Tricksters Touch

he's really gone?» he asked hopefully. Themyth got up. She walked slowly over to Rimble's chair. She felt the air. She stuck her hand through time and space and grabbed hold of nothing. Her old face paled. The patchwork quilt she had been wearing over her shoulders fell to the floor. Themyth walked into the kitchen. Rimble's roast was gone. *25* Rimble's departure from the known universes had immediate consequences. Old habits which one had hopefully discarded or outgrown in youth came creeping back with irritating tenacity. Obstacles that stood between the Guild in Speakinghast and various small interest groups solidified and became unmovable. Lovers lost their creativity and romanticism, breeding contempt and boredom. Artists continued making what they had made before. Surprise birthday parties went out of fashion. So did daring inventions. In short, civilization came to a grinding halt. Meanwhile, in the unknown universes, specifically the one which held the Distant Place, Trickster's touch created an explosion of New Ideas and Possibility. Trickster, who had been called by many names in the Distant Place, was now recognized as Rimble the Transformer. The old mythology had been given a new infusion by Trickster's recent reentry into that world. He was given a face-lift so to speak. Welcomed by the denizens of the Distant Place, Rimble settled in. Updating himself for the needs of the modern world, Trickster put on new clothing. He adopted a Mohawk on Saturday and Sunday, and a yuppie three-piece suit for the workweek, when he also carried a business card. It read: IMPROVEMENTS, INC. Creators of the Impossible Possibility (800) 999-9999-9 Special Agent: Mr. Rimble Trickster distributed his business card in every city of the world. People who were in desperate need of radical, irrevocable, and life-giving change in their lives called Rimble at all hours of the day and night. Rimble, who possessed and needed no phone, simply heard their calls in his mind. As soon as the request was made, the power of change was released to the individual. Of course, since it was Trickster answering the calls, change occurred in the most unexpected and fantastic ways. Coincidence knew no bounds. Neither did eccentricity. Trickster loved every minute of his new job. Everyone who requested help from him became Rimblessah—blessed by Rimble. And changed forever. One day, Trickster and the Obstinate Woman took a walk down by the east banks of Lake Michigan in Milwaukee. Even though it was still winter in Mnemlith, it was edging toward fall in Wisconsin. The trees were covered in a pageant of orange-pink and yellow leaves. The air was eager and gusted merrily across the teal-blue water of the gigantic lake. The Obstinate Woman pulled her gray muffler and hat down over her ears. Since it was Saturday, Trickster carried a skateboard under his arm and sported a denim jacket with rhinestones and buttons stuck all over it. His stiff black Mohawk listed in the wind. Trickster turned to the Obstinate Woman and said, «Wonder how things are going in Mnemlith?» The Obstinate Woman shrugged. «Probably not very well. How long do you plan to abandon them—» «Abandon them?» interrupted Trickster. «I hardly call it that. Tis they who have abandoned me, girlie. They didn't know what they had when they had it. Always complaining, always wishing I'd go away. Well, I have. And I likes it much better here,» he added with a grin. «People ask for my help, you know. All the time. Day and night. It's quite nice, it is. Quite gratifying.» «You don't think people in Mnemlith need your help?» «That's not the point. Sure, they need my help. But they don't want it. They don't ask for it. See the difference?» The Obstinate Woman grunted. There was a short pause. Trickster watched the waves in silence. Finally he said, «You really think I should check up on things?» The Obstinate Woman nodded. «Yup. You kind of left Kelandris and Zendrak with a mess, you know. You left them in a world that hasn't got the quality of change represented in it. They're your children, yes. But without you being represented at the Panthe'kinarok, how can they activate that side of their nature? You're not there to mirror it back. So what are they to do, Rimble? You've crippled them.» Trickster scowled. «I think you're exaggerating mightily, missy.» «I don't.» There was another short pause. «Well,» said Trickster, wiping his nose on his sleeve, «I have been curious about everyone. I suppose I could make a quick return. A weekend jaunt, as it were.» «Good idea,» replied the Obstinate Woman drily. In Mnemlith time, Greatkin Rimble had been gone only three weeks. But what a three weeks it had been. True to his word, Gadorian had shut down the Kaleidicopia, its entrance and first-floor windows boarded up. Rimble's Own, as the members of his ennead were known among themselves, had scattered into the streets of Speakinghast. In the north, Kelandris, Zendrak, Himayat, and Po remained in Suxonli Village after Hennin's death. The two Greatkin had felt Rimble's departure from the known universes and had been stunned. Unsure what their father expected of them, both Greatkin had sought the counsel of their mother, Greatkin Themyth. Themyth had visited her children appearing as an old crone at the crossroads outside Suxonli on several occasions. She did so now. Gone were Themyth's playful patchwork clothes. In their stead were drab colors and limp, threadbare materials. Her gray hair was matted, her wrinkles pronounced. Themyth limped toward Kelandris and Zendrak. She used her cane to support her frail body. Her condition had alarmed both her children. They had begged her to contact Rimble, but Themyth had refused. The Greatkin of Civilization preferred to keep her condition secret from Rimble. She wanted him to feel free to do what he felt he needed to do. Kelandris had thought this absurd and spent a great deal of time sending urgent messages to the Obstinate Woman in Milwaukee trying to convince her to tell Rimble he needed to return home as soon as possible. The Obstinate Woman had finally succeeded down by the shores of Lake Michigan. Rimble made his first appearance in Mnemlith at the crossroads outside Suxonli moments after Themyth appeared there. Sleek and happy himself, Rimble stared open-mouthed at the Greatkin of Civilization. He had expected Themyth to react negatively to his disappearance, but he had never expected her to waste away. «Themyth,» he said softly, «why didn't you tell me this was so hard on you?» The Greatkin of Civilization shrugged. «You needed to leave. Why should I stop you from doing that? You're an independent sort, Rimble. Always have been. From the moment you freed us all from Great Being, that's been your nature. Your freedom is your being. I understand this and would never cage you here.» Rimble swallowed. He felt awful—for once. He put his hands out and touched Themyth gently on the cheeks. «You're so very dear to me. More than any of the others, you matter most to me,» he said with uncharacteristic affection. «I would've returned for your sake. Always.» Kelandris, who was standing nearby with Zendrak, raised an eyebrow. She leaned toward her brother and whispered, «Seems the Distant Place has softened his heart a bit.» «Yes,» agreed Zendrak. «How unexpected. Somehow I never figured Dad for a paragon of compassion. Suppose it's a trick?» Kelandris shook her head. «Feels to me like he's really upset about Themyth's health. I think he really loves her.» «Phebene is getting through to Dad, after all.» «Yeah.» Rimble put his arm around Themyth. He guided her away from their children, measuring his quick step to Themyth's labored ones. Out of hearing of Zendrak and Kelandris, Rimble said, «You want to make love?» Themyth shook her head. «You always make me pregnant.» «I don't have to make you pregnant.» «No tricks?» «No tricks.» Themyth smiled slightly. Rimble grinned. «I saw that. I saw that smile there, girlie.» Themyth started laughing. As she did so, she lost years off her apparent age. Her eyes twinkled as she thought of the happy prospect of bedding Trickster. «Remember that position where you hang from the ceiling and I—» Trickster shrieked with giggles. Kelandris looked at Zendrak. «What do you suppose they're talking about?» she asked. Zendrak kissed her playfully on the mouth. *26* While Rimble and Themyth made love, the world of Mnemlith was transformed. Civilization prospered—albeit eccentrically—and Rimble's Nine found their footing again. Rowenaster, who had always been independently wealthy (and quite tenured), bought a house in the Asilliwir section of Speakinghast and invited the rest of the Kaleidicopians to come and live there. Friends with some of the most powerful and influential merchants in the city, Rowenaster was able to buy the house for practically nothing. Located on Bazaar Street, the house was symmetrical and not quite as large as the Kaleidicopia. Made of old brownstone, it was studded with stained glass and marble archways. The house had a central courtyard and was surrounded by a walled garden that had been meticulously cared for by its previous tenants. Here was a place of great privacy. The Asilliwir merchants who prospered on this well-to-do street allowed the Guild little interference in their lives. Many of these merchants were the ones who kept the Guild solvent. Rowen knew it. And so did Gadorian. Guildmaster Gadorian stared moodily into his coddled egg which nestled inside a floral porcelain container on the kitchen table. Master Curator Sirrefene bustled about squeezing oranges on the counter and browning toast on a rack over the open fire in the kitchen hearth in their Saambolin residence. Seeing Gadorian's expression, she said, «Cheer up, love. The Asilliwir will keep the Kaleidicopians in line—more or less.» «It's the less I'm worried about.» «Well, at least the house on Bazaar Street is attractive.» «True.» Gadorian groaned. «What's wrong with Rowenaster? Why does he insist on living with those people?» «Maybe he likes them.» Gadorian rolled his eyes. Sirrefene put a glass of fresh juice on the table next to her husband's dark-skinned hand. «You know, Gad—the Kaleidicopian's got rid of that gray thing. Akindo, I think they called it. No one at the 'K' wanted it in the city any more than you did.» Gadorian pursed his lips. «There were reports of a Mythrrim in the sky, Sirrey. And these reports all originated inside that house. Those people are rumormongers. They're dissidents. They make havoc of city rules. They should be kicked out of Speakinghast altogether. And there's a new mood, Sirrey. Have you felt it? All in the last week or so. Members of the Saambolin Guild are saying we're looking at a more relaxed time now in the city. They're even considering starting a scholarship fund for artists over at the university. They're going to pay the Jinn to go to school!» Sirrefene smiled. «Maybe our time in the city is past, Gad. Maybe there's a new age acoming. If so, we'll have to make room for it, won't we, my love?» Gadorian grunted. In